


Chicanery

by Gwarsh



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwarsh/pseuds/Gwarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was less than honorable, but he’d do it. He would marry the savage to get his kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicanery

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just can’t see the first time rolling differently, especially with Viserys, he’s not interested in pleasure, only getting what is his, regardless of the sacrifice. This is a prompt from the game of kink.

 

 

## [chicanery: Definition of CHICANERY

**1**

**:**  deception by artful subterfuge or sophistry  **:**  [trickery](http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/trickery)

**2**

**:**  a piece of sharp practice (as at law)  **:**  [trick](http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/trick)]

 

 

_______

 

She’d never even seen her mother, but her brother said she looked like her, especially now that she had a woman’s body. She’d never felt too interested in learning about her home, as he called it. It was never tangible enough for her. It was made of words, just words. However, her brother made it seem real, so much so, he’d hand over anything for it.  It seemed like a dream, the pair of them wandering from place to place. Favor to favor. Never ending list of empty promises, and ultimately deceit.

 

Illyrio was the latest to take them in a long list of people. As far as it went he treated them well enough, but that was usually how it started. A welcoming feast, the inevitable droning of politics, her brother would lose his temper, and then so on and so forth. Their welcoming quickly became a cage and then the pair of them and the few people they had would slip out into the night and wander once more. If anything he seemed more inclined to help them than others had in the past.

 

Illyrio easily handled her Viserys’s tantrums, as one would handle a petulant child. The man appealed to her brother’s need for luxury and sense of self-importance, no thing was too expensive, no request too foolish, their needs were met fully. Never had she felt more like a princess. Everyday someone would come and help her bathe, not that she needed help, but still it was wonderful to be tended to. Also, Illyrio was working in politics with Viserys. The man seemed to be all for her brother taking ‘his’ throne back.  Illyrio actively tried to work a deal in with the Dothraki.

 

The Dothraki, she hadn’t known too much about them aside from the fact that they were a nomadic tribe with huge numbers. Her brother said that the Dothraki had thousands of people, seasoned warriors and while they were not as great as their own great troops, were skilled.

 

“They say he is undefeated in battle, that is why his hair remains uncut. Khal Drogo has never been defeated. A savage, of course, but one of the finest killers alive.”

 

In the large room, his voice echoed and bounced off the walls.  The lush bathroom looked warm under the sunlight bouncing in through the open windows.  The bath sat in the center and tiled walls covered the walls and floor.  Potted plants served as greenery, the room was truly heavenly. A sweet scent wafted through the air, flowery, soft, and feminine. It was meant to be enticing.

 

The light haired girl stood in the room, awkwardly staring at her feet. Uncertain what to with her self she shuffled around a bit.

 

At the sudden noise Daenerys looked up. Her brother’s back was to her. His wet hair, and hung loosely on his shoulders. Viserys wore it short in comparison to her long silvery locks.  Steam rose from the water, the heat scalding to the bath attendants. Viserys had soaked in the bath, preparing him for what was to come in a few short hours. Cleanliness was quintessential, or so it seemed. The hot burning water used to scrub and purify the most intimate places on his body.

 

With them, the water was always scolding hot. Her brother would only say, “Fire cannot burn the dragon.” Fire was in their blood.  It seemed she’d heard and heard so many things from her brother. Viserys was always rambling about things she could not possibly understand. About their ancestors, dragons, and crossing the sea.

 

As of late, since the arrangement had been put forth, Viserys latest set in voicing his greatness excluded this moment: His marriage to the Dothraki leader.

 

_“This too will be dreadful, but like always sister we must endure.”_

 

Viserys had grim look on the marriage overall. While Viserys didn’t count this marriage on his list of soon to be conquest, he named this day the day his rule would begin. His legacy, their kingdom… It made her feel troubled to be honest. Something set off her ire. 

 

-But today was the day, or so her brother thought.

 

“Do you think he’ll take you then?” Her voice carried over loudly in the room, the volume of it startling even to her own ears.  In her mind she picture her voice bouncing from wall to wall, like a ball. The thought lightened her mood.

 

Viserys didn’t even turn around in the water, “Our blood is noble, son of a king…. one day I’ll be king. He will want me.”

 

The oils glided over his body the servants dashed skittishly around the room waiting for him to emerge from the waters.  Daenerys cocked her head to the side, her brother had never been one to take interest in men, and while it wasn’t entirely unheard of, a marriage between men was quite strange concept. Men kissing men, or kissing in general for that matter! She wasn’t all naïve, but the thought of intimacy made her blush. Did it really have to go up there? Some people say its pleasurable other claim it hurts the first time.

 

Was it the same for her brother? He had no maidenhead to speak of so she couldn’t image anything being broken through.  Curiosity was tickling her mind.  Daenerys was fidgeting full of questions now. She bit her lip with uncertainty, her hands grabbing at her robes and twisting the cloth in her hands, “ Have you ever been with a man before?” 

 

Viserys back stiffened. He turned slightly in the bath standing fully from the water and slugged out. The servants rushed forward.  They draped cloth over him, rubbing the cloth over his body to aid his drying. They were frightened of her brother so they always tried to work as quickly as possible with him. Even at dinners they scuttled away from him, almost slapping down his plate and disappearing. The servants of Illyrio’s home had too fallen prey a few times to Viserys wrath, and it certainly wasn’t just his acerbic tongue they found themselves cowering.

 

“Yes.”

 

He was talkative today, perhaps in a good mood even. It didn’t take much of anything to anger him, so pressing her luck Daenerys decided to chance it and inquire further.

 

“What was it like?”

 

She’d never experienced a man before. Were all men built the same way? She assumed not, but still. What was penetration like, did it _really_ hurt, and did boys bleed like girls in their first time? Her brother wasn’t a large fellow, thin and rather wispy, he reminded her more of a teen with his lankier build than an actual man. Daenerys could recall the day her brother finally gained enough stubble on his chin to shave, how proud he’d been of it. However, he barely grew past the stubble, hardly any chest hair, something he was annoyed at, but also grateful for.

 

The servants stopped drying him. Viserys turned to her, his body tense. Her eyes drifted briefly to his flaccid manhood. He was the only man she’d ever seen, and after they reclaim the kingdom her brother might be her husband. They had bloodline to recreate and nobility to spurn forth; it wouldn’t be uncommon, considering the history of the kingdom. Or perhaps her brother would marry her off to seal an alliance. Both fates were equally unappealing.

 

Across the room, Viserys looked thoughtful, and his expression dour as he replied simply, “Terrible.”

 

Daenerys could sense he grew irritated, but still she longed to know more.

 

“When did this happ-”

 

Viserys growled, it was an awful thing and she knew then to simply stand quietly.

 

Moments passed in silence before her brother piped up.

 

  1. Viserys shooed the servants and dressed in simple light clothes. 



 

Daenerys wandered over to a chair and sat still like a doll.

 

“I need to be perfect.” He muttered.

 

At times like this Viserys simply forgot she was there. He’d get a look on his face that was hollow and distant. She knew if she interrupted now he’d be his most violent. Daenerys knew the full force of ‘the dragon’ quite well. She wonders briefly of a house with a red door, and a time of joy. It was brief, snuffed out like flames in the rain, but in the end everything left and all that remained was Viserys, dreams of home, and of course the dragon.

 

His fist, his fingers wrapping around her throat saying how much he hated her, these were her memories of the dragon. His rage was hot and all encompassing.

 

She’d never seen that place, the home that Viserys so desperately wanted back.  She was born as a wanderer, a drifter in these lands. But Viserys promised gold, and a crown for her head one day soon. They’d sail across the sea and finally she’d understand what it meant to be home.

 

“…Perfect.”

 

Perhaps.

 

She tried not to look morose.

 

\----

 

The place was beautiful, trees everywhere you looked around the property.  Leafy vines curled around the banisters of the balcony, the stone was cut elegantly with curved designs here and there. The open doors to the balcony were a curved arch, cut in stone and pointed elegantly at the top. The faint smell of the salted ocean drifted along with the warm breeze. 

 

They were only here as investments for the future. The past was distant but still clear. His mother’s final wishes were only to take Daenerys wherever he went, to look after her because they were the last of their noble line. As a child he took her words to heart, to keep her close, despite his distaste for her. Her lack of anything Targaryen annoyed him; her features were the only thing that showed their status. Here they were nothing, but he would make himself greater, so much greater. He would bathe the people who’d driven them far from home with fire. A cloud of ash would cover their lands, their lungs filled with choking smoke, burning them from the inside and out. His name would be spoken of across the seas. 

 

The breeze blew the curtains slightly.

 

He stared over the balcony, “I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers behind me. The people will be with us. They cry out for their _true_ king.” His hands griping the balcony tightened at the mention of the word, ‘king’.

 

Viserys looked over his shoulder to the plump man, “They do, don’t they?” His lips pursed with longing, want, and for a moment he looked like a boy. He wants to hear the words, know that his people were with him.

 

Illyrio only nodded eagerly, “All across the Kingdoms, men lift secret toasts to your health. Their women sew dragon banners in hope of your return from across the water, “ he paused only to shrug, “Or so my agents tell me.” The large man smiled, a warm pleasant look passing over his face.  Illyrio did in fact have several connections overseas; sometimes he’d bring news of what was happening in Kings Landing or give small-jeweled trinkets to his sister. But most of all he’d bring news of his people.

 

He smirked, a light coming to his eyes. He would be the dragon for his people. He would be cruel, fast, sly, majestic, and above everything thing else.  As a child he’d seen the bones of those dragons. He’d touched them even, to some dragons might be a distant memory, but he knew it was still in his blood.  Their bones alone were something to be awed, down deep below their home. If he could see them once more, perhaps even acquire a blade made with Targaryen steel. A throne, his father’s throne would become his own.

 

Viserys would be The Beggar King no longer.

 

A wonderful thrill traveled up his spine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late! Khal Drogo was late! Of all things!

 

It was unimaginable, preposterous, incomprehensible, positively mortifying even. Who did the horseman think he was to make _them- no! - him **wait**_? If anything he should’ve been the honored one to much less meet, yet alone be in their presence! How much longer would they have to stand around like fools! The audacity of those people!

 

“Where is he?” Viserys hissed. Impatience didn’t cover it, he downright angry.

 

He almost grit his teeth. A scowl was on his face, as per usual, he tried not to simply let his anger get the best of him while they waited. He hated waiting, the absolute uncertainty of it made his resolve weaken and his palms sweat with rising tension. He had long since realized that life indeed did require time of course, but it was all too much. He was eager and not getting any younger, he felt old standing round there. Youth was brief harsh and cold.

 

Beside him Illyrio chuckled with mirth, “Dothraki are not known for their punctuality.”

 

As if summoned by the short exchange, the sound of horses thundered closer and closer.  Their hooves pounded hard on the ground beating away like heavy drums. His heart thudded loud in his chest almost matching the roar of the hooves. It wasn’t a feeling of fear that hastened his blood, but anxiousness. This was the day his reign would start, he was certain: His legacy, his rise to power, the reclamation of the land that was so rightfully theirs. The humiliation and betrayal his family suffered would finally be avenged. The great descendants of-

 

His sister reached for his arm.

 

“Viserys, will-“

 

 “-Silence!” he snapped at her, yanking his arm from her grasp.

 

The last few hours spent around her had slowly been waking the dragon. His rage hot insatiable at times, many a time he had raised a hand to her while in their grasp of the dragon.  His abhorrence of her had been hanging on edge the whole damned day. She’d ought to know better by now. Unfortunately the more learned part of their parents’ blood has only been passed on to him.  Stupid woman, it was an insult for her to even look like his mother. Once more he’d have to reassure his little sister.

 

“I know how to play a man like Drogo. I give him status, “ he frowned further, his narrow face pinching, “-and he gives me an army. Exotic-” he sneers, “-brides are often sought after as a sign of status. It shows influence and a greater reach of power.”

 

She nodded dumbly beside him.

 

Khal Drogo and his men rode up. Three flanked the tallest horse. The Khal’s tall and bulky figure was visible before the last man rode over the hill. He looked as elegant as a savage could, Viserys thought mentally gagging.  Drogo himself wasn’t all bad looking in a roguish way, but Viserys was not one for the charms that graced ruffians, much less men in general.

 

“Ah, May I present my honored guest, Viserys of the house Targaryen, the third of his name, rightful prince of-“

 

Viserys twitched, he was to be a king, and technically he was a king! A god amongst men!  Illyrio, however, had convinced him it was best to take the title of prince, he feared the Khal would not marry a king.

 

“-And his sister Daenerys of the house-“

 

Unworthy, she couldn’t even entice a horse king. It was a waste for thousands of men riding off nonsensically in the middle of nowhere. A waste, no matter, he would lead them. Drag these horse savages across the sea and win the war. His house was not to be trifled with.

 

The Khal’s gaze traveled from the fat bolstering Illyrio to his sister briefly, before settling on him.

 

“Come now Viserys.” Illyrio called.

 

Viserys approached, trying keep is chin up as the man on horseback inspected him in silence. He looked neither pleased nor dissatisfied. He felt like a cattle, no better than a scrap of meat. Annoyed, Viserys scowled when Khal Drogo turned and rode off with his men without even addressing him.

 

First the man was late, now he didn’t even acknowledge him?!

 

The last man shot him a down nosed look, his only response was a cold glare back. The last quickly turned and rode off with the others.

 

He stood in shock for a moment. Was he just rejected? Was his army leaving?

 

Viserys turned around with an incorrigible look. “Well, do I not please him? Am I not appealing enough? He wanted a man, right?”

 

Illyrio walked down the cloth-covered steps. He placed a chubby hand on his shoulder.

 

“Trust me, we’d know if he did not.” The remark was meant to humor, but the serious nature only left a bad taste in his mouth instead.

 

Regardless he narrowed his eyes as the sound of horses faded in the distance.

 

 

 

 

 

He could barely hold in his disgust as the savages moved wildly to the beating drums. _Disgusting._ All those uncivilized wretches were beneath him, but they had something he lacked: Numbers.  He a true king, forced to endure this while his sister stared wide-eyed hiding behind someone else like the useless brat she’d always been. The one thing he was sure she could do for him, the one thing that she could’ve proved herself a Targaryen, but responsibility had yet again fallen to him.

 

He’s been trading something of his for the sake of his kingdom, for the sake of everything he’s ever wanted. He’s not some simpering child clinging onto to his mother, grabbing her thick skirts with fear.

 

Viserys didn’t even flinch when one Dothraki disemboweled another. 

 

After the winner of the battle grabbed a woman with a loud cheer, Khal Drogo stood. His towering figure demanded attention as he raised one hand. Everything fell silent.  Eyes all trained on him, instinctively uncomfortable Viserys rose up.

 

“Now it’s time for gifts!”

 

The Dothraki presented skins, vest, belts, everything he figured these people would like. There were few pieces of metal silver work; he raised an eyebrow at that. This region was not well known to mine silver or precious metals.

 

After that Illyrio approached with a smile.

 

“My lord, Viserys may I present to you a most delightful gift from your sister, Daenerys.  Servants, for your comfort and pleasure, my lord! Irri will teach you riding, Jaqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah for your personal use…” He trailed off at that,

 

Viserys inwardly held a smirk; he’d have a woman yet.

 

“She’s quite attentive,” the fat man said before he cleared his throat.

 

Ser Jorah presented his old books: Songs and histories from the seven kingdoms, a trinket perhaps. Jorah from what little Illyrio had mentioned to him, was an exile as well.

 

“And finally, for you, I have dragon’s eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.”

 

Daenerys gasped loudly at the sight of the gifts, but he could barely contain rolling his eyes. More than likely those gifts were fake, but despite that he thanked the Magister. Still something about them, he would inspect them further later.

 

Khal Drogo walks towards the crowd and they part to make way. After passing through all the crowd’s attention shifted.

 

The Dothraki people turned to stare at him as he was some strange foreigner, which while he was, Viserys would not be over looked.  Refusing to look out of place, he tries to retain some dignity by holding his head high. Some whispering goes through the crowd, he sees some of them gesture to his hair as well stare at his sister as well. He supposes among all the dark locks of them him and his sister were strange.

 

Viserys tried not to scowl.

 

The Khal walks through the parted crowd once more, a horse pulled behind him.

 

The tall Dothraki warrior mutters something in their guttural language. It’s the first time he’s actually spoken directly to him; Viserys would be lying if he said the voice wasn’t somewhat intimidating.

 

Illyrio, ever eager to make himself look favorable, translated, “Silver for the silver of your hair, the Khal says.”

 

Viserys attempted to look pleased, “It’s _nice._ ”  He didn’t want to say thank you.

 

The horse is tall, not as tall as the warrior’s own horse, but strong looking.  Lightly colored the same shade as his hair. The horse was built for both speed and strength; it was worthy of a king. It was truly a magnificent creature; he forces himself not to look pleased.

 

Viserys almost cried out startled when Khal Drogo lifted him easily off the ground and placed him on the horse. Embarrassment washed over him as he realizes just how easily the other man found his weight. He huffs, unconsciously puffing out his chest to regain some sense of manhood in this situation.

 

The people stare at him with renewed wonderment as he sighed before adjusting himself to gain a better posture on the horse. He’s ridden horses, but isn’t willing to admit he’s no expert. Still, Viserys has learned over the years, sometimes faking it is what is most important. He marched the horse forward; only thinking that one he’d be leading them away, across the sea. So caught up in his thoughts, he barely noticed when the Khal mounted his own great horse.

 

Drogo walked forward, his strides passed Viserys’ in a few moments. Grimly, he followed behind Drogo as he was led from the encampment. 

 

 

 

 

The sun was setting and a fading orange hue began to settle over the horizon. They were close to the shore; he could hear the waves in the distance. He thought of ships smashing into nothing against the rocks, the splintered wood was eroded and eaten by time alone. The abyss, that dark abyss that was the ocean, swallowed them whole and yet was still a greedy beast.

 

Just keep the Khal happy... How far was he willing to, was he so desperate at this point he would sell himself to a savage?

 

Drogo rode his stallion at towards the meadow. Viserys watched as Drogo’s hair trailed behind the man. The braids, numerous and he wondered how many battles he’d fought in. Viserys has never fought in a real battle he won’t delude himself to convince himself of such, but he too was skilled.

 

‘ _Undefeated in battle.’_

And yet Viserys has lived many lives, some with no title. He was prince, refugee, lost child, victim, beggar king, dragon, and now a bride and whore. 

 

Drogo came to halt and dismounted his own horse in one fluid move.

 

Viserys started to attempt dismount his own, before the Khal lifted him once more as if he were a child or worse, a maiden, and placed him on the ground. Once more he felt the need to shout at the taller man, “I am no maiden!” Delicate was not for him, a roughed disposition. This dirty place was where he would be taken; if he wasn’t jaded he might’ve thought to voice his complaints. Either way this would look to be another thing, what better than himself to barter.

 

He held back a dry laugh. Oh the irony. He swore never bow before another man again, yet he was about to submit himself. To what and who, the king of nomadic nothings.  Performing his wifely duties. He was shaking, his will wavered, and the thought of escape hit him. He spent a moment doting the consequences of fleeing this time. Fight or flight, fight or flight! Both options lured him with promises of a quick death. Viserys would do neither though, he would simply remain calm, staying calm was a game he could play, or at very least try to.

 

Apprehensive, he watched his new ‘husband’ tie up the horses. His heart fluttered erratically in his chest. Viserys felt like a trapped bird when the warrior turned once more.  His breathing grew harsher as something vile crept into his head. He brushed it off, steadying his mind, preparing himself.  

 

He could do this. He needed to do this.

 

Perform like always.

 

Khal Drogo grabs his chin; he could feel the calluses on the older mans fingers. He shuts his eyes willing to just get this atrocious thing over with. A hand slides to his neck, Viserys flinches. With that the last of his pride begins to crack ever so slightly. The one of the last things he promised to keep to himself was handed over to this fellow. His hands curled into tight fist. Viserys wanted to lash out, and he trembles when the large hand touches his collarbone. 

 

“No.”

 

He pries open his eyes, and stared into Drogo’s dark eyes for a moment before avoid the gaze. The other man’s voice is deep and just as harsh when he speaks his own language. Finally getting a long god look at the man he noted a scar in the other’s eyebrow.

 

Despite his own wary emotions, his intrigue had piqued. He licked his dry lips before finally asking in a disinterest tone, “You speak the common tongue?” It would be a convenient thing if the other did. He’d have an easier time. 

 

Khal Drogo’s response is merely a simple, “No.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose, ‘no’ must be the only word you know then…figures with your people’s meager interest in worldly matters.” Viserys’s tone was acidic, a last ditch attempt to reinforce his wall before the inevitable siege.

 

Ignoring the young man, the Khal began to remove his garments. Viserys looked away again. His shirt was lifted over his head the light loose material falling to the ground, forever soiled with dirt. He didn’t even like the shirt anyway. Movement ceased suddenly and Viserys could hear the sound of the Khal undressing his own self. The heavy belt hit the ground and Viserys stared up at the opposing figure.

 

He wasn’t modest, but he absolutely refused to look at another man’s cock. Something about looking at it would make everything all the more horrifying, all too real. It was ironic enough for him that just in a few moments, said cock would be splitting him in half. But still he couldn’t help it he looked, and his heart fluttered erratically.  

 

The wind ruffled his hair in the breeze.

 

It was like before.

 

Truly abhorrent, but only one thing mattered. He could see the Iron Throne, his people, his crowned head, everything.

 

He’s consented to this.

 

His trousers were yanked down. They crumple around his ankles and he awkwardly steps out them, kicking them the side. Viserys fought the urge to take his hands and cover up what last shred of dignity he had.

 

The Khal inspects him from the front then walks behind him. Like a predator rounding their prey, for once the great dragon feels much like a hare.

 

There’s a jingle behind him and heat at his back. Viserys didn’t realize just how small he was in comparison to the Dothraki until now. He’s at least a full head taller than himself. The other man loomed over him, casting a dark shadow overhead. He can feel the warm organ pressing hotly behind him. A large hand slides over his hip and touches the soft tuft of lightly colored pubic hair. 

 

Viserys face grows hot, as his body completely stills.  The fingers, each one as hardened and rough as the other, touch the base of his cock. It yields no pleasurable response mentally from the Targaryen, but his body responded accordingly. He did not yield a sigh to the touch, even as the Khal briefly strokes his length.

Filthy.

 

The hand lost interest and goes to touch his back. The chill of the evening is the only reason Viserys shuddered for. Not fear, it would never be fear. He was a dragon, dragons were cunning, they were strong, cruel, and they fed on horses, snatching them from the ground and consuming them in mid-air.

 

The cleft of his butt is pressed against the man’s fingers; his cheeks spread slightly when fingers slid down to press firmly against the outside of his entrance. His nostrils flare and he wars an internal battle. A single finger slips in. It’s tight awful and burning. Stretching a spot he dare not fathom using for this purpose. His eyes aren’t watering.

 

_Fire does not harm the dragon, fire does not harm the dragon, and fire does not-_

Viser _ys_ let the tiniest of noises slip from his lips. He released a deep shuddering painful gasp as a second finger is forced inside his dry passage. He only tried to keep his composure as the feeling of being stretched fills him with further discomfort. The fingers move in and out slowly, testing. They feel wide impossibly wide, and he inwardly shuddered at the thought of more being forced in.  The twist, Viserys eyes close as tightly.

 

As abruptly as they entered the fingers are gone.

 

He almost sighed with relief when the Khal pulled away. He knew what comes after,

 

His knees hurt when the Dothraki forces him to kneel, still standing behind him. Viserys dully noted that the Khal is now kneeling as well. Viserys’s bent over, elbows in the dirt and he can feel his cheeks being parted once more. His hands fist the loose soil.

 

Viserys closes his eyes and thinks of every whore he’s ever had the chance to fuck in the ass. Their practiced moaning and painted faces, he wondered just how they did it.

 

The head forces its way into the dry and unprepared passage.  The flesh feeling like more like he was being speared with a pike. He leaned even more heavily onto his elbows and spread open his palms, his back already beginning to hurt. Teeth grinding during the most mechanical act he’s ever preformed.

 

More and impossibly more goes into his protesting tight entrance. The puckered hole only quenches more and more, trying to force the intruder out. He can’t relax, he can’t force himself to hold still and the pain intensifies. Viserys tries to focus on anything other than the horrible sensation of the other man’s cock inside him, and only succeeds in biting his lip so hard it tears open. He could taste blood now, the coppery flavor coating his tongue.

 

The Khal’s calloused hands grip Viserys’s hips and he’s certain Drogo isn’t even all way inside when he starts to pull out.  The horse king rocks forward slamming it home. Viserys wants to vomit, his stomach churning as he’s pulled forward and back, in and out, tearing and tearing, blood slowly aiding his movements as the man he had on his knees endured.

 

It hurt. _In._ It really hurt. _Out._

 

Viserys tight passage gripped painfully around the other’s cock, and Viserys’s eyes began to water as the pain continuously assaulted him.  He can’t relax, he just can’t will himself too. The Khal breathing is harsh behind him; sweat is coating his brow from the struggle.  His upper lip has sweat beads gather over it as well, and he can feel his eyebrows knitting together. He stops grinding his teeth in favor of clenching them.

 

He feels lucid and his back starts to numb with the constant burn. He’s vaguely aware when suddenly the burning stops. Viserys practically slumps to the dirt with relief, the only thing that held him up were his elbows. His head hurt when he registered he’s being turned around. His legs are being opened and he’s lying on his back. A vain thought runs through his head about his hair getting dirt in it.  He’s being pulled again, maneuvered.

 

He’s in the other man’s lap now and it’s humiliating.

 

Viserys once more finds the tip of the other’s cock pressing deftly at his hole again. He feels like he’s about to die, his stomach muscles were cramping up as the Khal pressed in.

 

It hurt, even as he slid further and further back down, all he could feel was complete agony. He’s being split in half.

 

Viserys only gets the just past the head of the cock when he hears his own throaty whimper. It’s pathetic even to his ears. The horse lord doesn’t even pause for a second, if anything he pushes the fair-haired man all the way down. His bruising hold on the other’s hips tightens as Viserys arches back in pain. Without warning Drogo lifts him and begins to work him onto his stiff plundering length. The unwanted movement causes Viserys to bite his lip hard.  The already abused flesh only offers more blood in response to his distress.

 

 _Endure._ It what he needs to do, but how much longer could this go on for?

 

The Targaryen grabs at the broad shoulders of the Dothraki.

 

_His kingdom._

Khal Drogo is staring at his face; the only change from the hard expression is the slight dropping of his lids and harsh breathing. Viserys only wanted to yell out at him: DON’T LOOK AT ME! He wanted nothing more than to strangle the other man.

 

His face contorted into a painful one, He pressed forward, burying his face into the taller man’s neck. Viserys clawed at Drogo’s back, trying to alleviate his own pain in some way. He could feel the long strands of the Khal’s hair touching his arms and hands. Between their bodies his flaccid erection unabashedly starts to harden with the friction.

 

It was about as far from pleasurable as it could get, but his erection knew nothing of his pain.

 

He has to get through this. He needs to once again survive this.

 

Viserys burned inside his entrance horrendous pain, and he knows the inside has to be torn.

 

The Khal grunts, perhaps the first sign of a possible end to the whole accursed evening. The pace increases and the ‘coupling continues.

 

It felt like hours before Viserys felt heard that grunt again and he settled for biting into the Khal Drogo’s shoulder to hold back hisses of pain.

 

Would it ever end?

 

The slapping of his thighs and butt against the other man offer no comfort until he hears the Khal groan one last time and the finally heat inside.

 

_Make him happy._

He passes out.

 

 

 

 

_The boat is rocking, painfully, everything is moving. People are shouting from outside their tiny room, he thinks he’s shouting, but the terrible noise is so great he’s not sure._

_The storm ragged, plowing the ship, shaking it like a rag doll. A single toy stranded in the middle of a vast ocean. The other ships were gone, smashed to bits, swallowed whole by the seas gargantuan waves. The ship groaned with effort, every single motion of the sea was trying to ear it to bits, and the wind alone was enough to nearly take the mask off entirely._

_Under the deck, items were smashed to bits, beds overturned, people trying to steady themselves long enough to find something nailed into the floor of the ship. Some crawling, other slammed into walls._

_He’s wrapped up in arms._

_He can’t stop screaming._

_The lump is forced between them, but still he’s tucked up into an embrace._

_He only stops yelling when his throat ached so badly it hurts to open his mouth._

_“Is that better now?”_

_It wasn’t, the ship is till groaning. Moving violently._

_“You’re safe.”_

_He tried to wrap his arms around her as well. Clinging tighter so that he would be lost. He wonders briefly if the lump was safer than out here and he grows envious. He wishes for the easiness of that shelter as well. He closes his swollen water logged eyes._

_“Both of you are safe.”_

 

 

 

 

He’s lying on furs. The musty scent assaults him and he’s dimly aware that there is light. He groans, the light stung his eyes and he tries to roll over to block out the sun. The second he tries to move his lower body pain shoots up his spine. His body is on fire, the pain reawakening just like him.

 

A sharp gasp escapes his lips.  

 

“Ah, **_khaleesi_** , you are awake.”

 

‘Khaleesi’?

 

He sits up despite the pain stinging his rectum.  It was still on fire there. He grimaced when he imaged what it must look like on the inside. He dreaded the though of having someone look.

 

Viserys’s surroundings are definitely not the cold dirt he was laying in yesterday.

 

“Where am I?”

 

He’s asked that question so many times in his life it’s almost second nature, with or without the strange circumstances.  Viserys felt groggy and thirsty. His head is pounding aside from other parts he feels like curling up into a ball and just laying there. The furs, a somewhat musty smell to his nose, were soft enough.  The light poked through here and there in the holes of the tent. A merry little fire pit sat nearby.

 

“-Ah… it is…khal’s tent? Yes?” Her voice is heavily accented; the effort of speaking the common comes out strange.  

 

Figures.

 

“We left Pene- penetos?“

 

Viserys sat ramrod straight despite the pain.

 

“We’ve left _PENTOS_?!” Hi eyes narrowed and he grit his teeth.  “My sister-“ He tries to stand grabbing the fur and using it to cover up his more vulnerable parts. He’s prepared to scourge the whole- wherever the hells they were- to find her. These people would not steel her.

 

“Is traveling too. She stays with Ser Jorah.”

 

At this he finally took a look at the girl in the tent. Darkened tanned completion, her hair long, somewhat grungy, but clean nonetheless. She was pretty enough, in her people’s way.

 

She holds up a jar with some type of _mush_ inside. He tries not to look suspicious, “It is for injury. For the mouth and- the _inside._ ”

 

He flushed an unattractive shade of red; he knows exactly what is meant by the ’inside’ _._ He was not dancing around the word daintily, but honestly, having to shove fingers up there would prove to be uncomfortable. Viserys held his embarrassment in check.

 

“You take it and slowly put in, carefully. You can use help, if you want to. Will help with burn and some blood.”

 

She places the jar close by. “My name is Jaqui, khaleesi. I will teach you how to speak like my people and our ways.”

 

The woman, Jaqui, smiles pleasantly. Viserys glares at her, he friendliness was off-putting and greatly annoying. He had no interest in learning their customs or language, but merely in their numbers and leading these foreigners and reclaim what is his rite by blood.

 

“Lovely.” He bites out with sarcasm.

 

Unfazed she adds, “Your sister is fast learning, she takes to it quickly. She is quite smart.” 

 

Something about that statement annoyed him; there was fondness for Daenerys already. Admiration even. Already she interferes. He wouldn’t allow her his place, they need only to admire one of them, and it _would_ be him. Viserys knew he needed to keep a balance of power in check; he needed control, subtle control begrudging respect. The scales were already tipping towards her favor it seemed, alas she was always most fortunate, wasn’t she.

 

“I assure you, I’ll take to it just as quickly, if not better. Now, I want…I’m in need of a bath. A hot one, the water needs to be steaming.” The woman nodded obediently.

 

In the mood for pampering he called out to her, “And bring oils, pleasant ones, I’d dislike to smell like a pig…. a” He held his tongue from adding insults.

 

Jaqui complies hoping to her feet and exiting through the tent’s flap and leaving him alone.

 

The tent is spacious, wide, with a fire pit, furs and what he assumes to a bed, more of a lump, sits on a slightly elevated platform.  Chairs sit on the other side of a wide fire pit area. It’s elaborate for a nomadic group of people.  He dare say a luxury in comparison to what he’s dealt with when traveling. The open elements and a blanket for him and sister, the pair of them were probably immune to most forms of coughing sickness by now.

 

He gets up, limping over to jar before throwing down the furs and plopping down. He rubs the substance over his split mouth and it burns, stinging the afflicted area. Viserys winces when he tastes some of it and it burns even his tongue.

 

Tentatively he leans back, curving his body slightly as he opens his legs to investigate the damage. He moves a single digit downwards, down, down, until finally-

 

“-Gods be dammed!”

 

The exterior ached from brush it over, how could he even expect to heal, much let be taken in same vile manner again! Viserys pulled away staring down at the offensive finger, blood, a small amount covered the tip.

 

He needed to remove some of that blood and possible ‘leftovers’ before forcing the salve in. It wouldn’t be pretty.

 

Closing his eyes, he passively wonders how long it could take in this filthy place to get a stupid bath. It was small request: hot water. Did these people even know what that was? He can feel a head coming on as a by-product of irritation. He couldn’t stand feeling so unclean, so used.

 

He shuts his eyes, hoping to alleviate it. He lay down on his furs; they might as well be his.

 

…His gifts?

 

Where were they?

 

He’d question that later, right now he was too dirty to be preoccupied with such matters.  Bath, sister, then gifts, maybe food if he found it to be edible.

 

A fluttering sound and chatter.

 

He sat up.

 

Two men carry a medium sized tub and in the room close to the fire. Four women come in the buckets steaming with water filling it, to the brim. He nearly runs towards it. With some dignity he manages to hold in the childish urge until they exit, he barely has a leg in the tub when the flap opens once more. Gritting his teeth in annoyance he quickly throws his other leg in and sinks into the scalding water.

 

He only ceases moving when he hears a deep rumbling voice.

 

Drogo entered the tent.

 

That bastard.

 

The horse kings looms in the entrance of tent. His tall imposing figure cast a long shadow over him. His insides twist at the sight of his “husband”.

 

This had to be worth it.

 

Viserys lets his head sink below the water and shuts his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> LONG Ending After Thoughts: Just can’t picture Viserys being completely passive during his dub-con scene. He’s mentally unstable and over emotional when it comes to “re-claiming” his kingdom. He’s cruel, off the wall, and horrendously naïve. Of course I didn’t plan on changing him too much. So I hope he was as bratty as possible. He still hates Daenerys, but he realizes she is an important aspect of going home. 
> 
> Uh, what I guess I’m trying to say is that Viserys is a psychopath… I mean he does show some sociopathic tendencies, but for the most part really is not in complete grips of the rules of society if you will. 
> 
> Viserys would make an awful king; he’s a terrible person. He has a lot to learn. He ain’t changing, if at all, overnight. He’s work in progress. Please keep in mind Daenerys was the only person who actually truly bowed before him, the only one who makes him feel superior. He’s abusive because it makes him feel good. 
> 
> Blah I’m ranting. 
> 
> This was a prompt from the kink meme that I cannot find now. *scratches head*
> 
> Thanks For reading! 
> 
> Playlist (no particular order listed): 
> 
> 1\. Grizzly Bear – “Fine For Now”  
> 2\. Freelance Whales “Great Estates”  
> 3\. The Embassy – “Was That All It Was”  
> 4\. The Embassy – “Information”  
> 5\. The Editors – “Feel Good Inc. (cover)”  
> 6\. Kanye West – “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”


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